


'Twas Grace

by Missy



Category: Burn Notice
Genre: Angst, Community: comment_fic, F/M, Grief, Griefsex, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-24
Updated: 2011-04-24
Packaged: 2017-10-18 15:07:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/190151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam comforts Fiona when she starts to buckle under the weight of Michael's death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	'Twas Grace

**Author's Note:**

> Written for comment_fic, prompt: "but now I see".

The first time Sam heard from Madeline Westen after Michael’s death, he and Fiona were licking their wounds in a tumbled-down beach house north of Miami. They had gotten every last one of the bastards, killed them one by one slowly, except for the head, the big muckity-muck, the center of the organized drug cartel who had killed the man who meant the most to them.

Sam was looking forward to making that asshole bleed, but he didn’t tell Madeline.

“When are you coming home?” she asked, while Sam polished his gun and watched the Pistons lose.

“Soon as we finish this guy off. Then, if we have to run, we have to run.”

“Run? Sam…”

He heard a shout and a hissing noise from the makeshift weapon storage room that had, years ago, been an elegant dining room. “I’ve gotta go, Maddie.”

“Sam!”

“I love you! Just stay close to Nate.” Sam rushed out of the living area, and he found Fiona bent over a bottle of foul-looking chemicals, breathing deeply. She held her right hand in her left, and he could smell the scent of charred flesh.

“Fiona? You okay?” She glared up at him, her eyes cold and cruel – for the millionth time this week he cursed her for shutting him out when they were the only two people left in the world who could straight talk with each other. He unfolded her stiff fingers by force and saw the ugly red chemical burn on her palm. “God, Fi…” he cradled her palm in his. “Come on – you know we have to rinse this…”

“It doesn’t matter. I shoot with my right,” she reminded him, hissing as the water sluiced over her injured hand.

“You’ve gotta stop doing this.”

“What, Sam?” she glared, the water running into the sink a metallic accompaniment to their. “Stop remembering the look in Michael’s eyes? The way I had to hold his head while he died on the sidewalk?”

“Neither of us are ever going to forget that,” Sam declared. “Sister, you’ve been walking around this…death mask on. You’ve been acting like you don’t even have a soul anymore.”

She hauled off and slapped him right in the face. Sam grunted, rubbing his bleeding cheekbone. “My life isn’t worth living until we murder every last bastard who tried to hurt Michael.”

“Understood,” Sam remarked. They glared at each other, panting. He stared into the middle distance. “Think I need a beer.”

 

“You always need a beer.”

 

“Go lie down, Fiona. Take a breath. You need to rest.”

 

Fiona said absolutely nothing. Just watched Sam, silently accusing him of gigantic, evil crimes.

 

“Please, Fi. Just do it.”

 

Silently, she walked into the bedroom.

 

***

Sam slept wherever he could; standing up against a wall, lying down on their borrowed sofa, with his head down on a workbench. That night, he woke in the silence past midnight, hearing the screech of an owl in the distance.

But beneath that, the sloughing of the waves, he heard the sound of muffled crying and moved toward it, a hypnotized zombie.

Fiona pulled a gun on him before he could open the door.

“It’s me, Fi.” She froze and slowly lowered her weapon. Sam closed the door behind him. “Hey,” he held out an arm and was surprised that she wrapped hers around him.

“I know. God, Sam, I’ve been an ass to you. But he died just like…” she didn’t voice it, lowering her eyes. Sam knew. Mike had died bleeding on the street, just like her sister Claire.

“You’ve gotta go back to sleep,” Sam suggested. “Just rest for a bit.” Fiona stared at him blankly, as if she didn’t know what rest was. Sam groaned and pulled the blanket over her. “Rest. Now.”

“Can you stay here?”

He paused and gave her a look askance. “Are you sure about that?”

“Yes. Stay on the other side. I just feel rattled.”

Fiona was never rattled. This was a bad sign.

“All right.” Sam turned down the lamp before climbing into bed with her.

There was an awkward silence, long, protracted and uncomfortable. He could hear Fi sniffling still. He wondered if her hand was all right, but that was the hand that unexpectedly came to rest against his chest.

 

They fell asleep that way.

 

***

After a long, erotic dream involving Ann-Margaret, a swimming pool and a blowjob, he woke with Fiona straddling him, her hand between them and trying to get his cock into her sex.

 

Mindlessly, he reached down to pry her fingers off of him. “What the hell are you doing?!”

 

“Please,” her voice was a whisper. “Please, Sam.”

His cock rubbed between her legs, sucking a groan out of Sam’s throat. She was dry, but he was wet – the size of his cock would probably make her ache, but it demanded some kind of surcease.

Sam backed away, trying to get his hand on her clit. “You’re not ready.”

Fiona shook her head. “I want it to hurt,” she blurted out. “I need to feel something, anything. Please, just touch me.” She pressed the head of his cock between her legs again and speared him into her body.

Sam let out a hiss – the friction was great but she couldn’t be enjoying this. His balls took over for his brains and moved his hips, made them pump up into her until she grew wet, loose, and started riding him.

 

If Sam knew what Fi wanted from him, he had no idea what he needed from her. Maybe a respite from the pain, or an escape from his own brain, bones and skin.

Sam rocked upward into her. It was an awkward act, silent, an expression of their loss, their grief, their anger. It ended as it began - in a confused rush. Fiona let out a choked cry and fell forward onto her hands, and Sam let the orgasmic pull of her body around his suck him over the edge with an incoherent shout.

 

Fi sat up on his lap, her expression suddenly determined. It was as if the stormclouds within her mind had cleared as she shifted her shoulders, pushed back her hair and getting off of his limp cock. She seemed more herself, as if the orgasm had refreshed her soul. “Tomorrow we’ll settle this.”

“Uh huh,” Sam breathed, as he lay down beside her.

“We’re going to get Carland tomorrow.”

“Right,” Sam agreed against her neck.

“And then we’re picking Madeline’s up from Nate’s. And you’re going to marry me.”

Sam paused, looked into her eyes. Was this what they needed? Hell, who could say what they needed? It was a crazy time, and these were the desperate plans of two people who might not see the next sunset. They might fall or they might fly.

Or they might have a little cottage in Canada and a boy named Michael.

He said yes with his embrace.


End file.
